You can yell at me till spring turns to summer
turned to leaves turning yellow
but still these demons shout louder.
Here arrives as a long winter path paved with ice,
falling facts shatter on impact
across my frozen feet. It’s snowing glass
and their light rays bend blind eyes to a different reality;
one convinced the past is all that’s left of me.
I pinch the sun between two fingers,
beg for the burning present,
just one beam to heat each muscle,
aching to move.